


but a good laugh bursts forth from the soul

by darkmillennium



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam Milligan is So Done, Banter, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Laughter, M/M, Michael Possessing Adam Milligan, POV Adam Milligan, Post-Episode: s15e08 Our Father Who Aren't in Heaven, Post-Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), Slight Canon Divergence, like a lot of it, team free will is only there at the beginning, technically???, what do you call a human soul and angelic grace embracing each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24361081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmillennium/pseuds/darkmillennium
Summary: Sure, he and Michael had actually had some pretty funny conversations in the Cage, but everything was always...dampened,somewhat, because the knowledge that they were trapped always overtook everything else. But now? Now that they were free, without the confines of Enochian metals and sigils bearing down on them every second of every day?Well, it was probably high time that the serotonin in his brain kicked off....Still, did it really have to be in response to a grumpy archangel’s joke about a trench coat?
Relationships: Michael & Adam Milligan, Michael/Adam Milligan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 218





	but a good laugh bursts forth from the soul

**Author's Note:**

> this was MEANT TO BE 600 WORDS BUT APPARENTLY FUCKING NOT
> 
> title taken from quote below:  
> "A smile starts on the lips, a grin spreads to the eyes, a chuckle comes from the belly; but a good laugh bursts forth from the soul, overflows, and bubbles all around." — Carolyn Birmingham

Adam wonders if he should file a restraining order on his half-brothers. Not that that’d actually stop them, but it’d be nice to have something to stick in their faces.  
  
They’re back at Sam and Dean’s bunker (sadly enough) because it turns out that they screwed up the spell Michael gave them to trap God in some way or another and now the Three Stooges are trying to wheedle another way of defeating God out of said archangel, except, _news flash_ , there’s only _so many ways_ that the being who _created the damn universe_ can be defeated.  
  
And those ways are either trapping him or killing him, apparently, and they can’t kill him for _obvious reasons._ _  
_ _  
_ Michael’s the one behind the steering wheel right now, and Adam is sitting off to the side in their little dimensional pocket, currently rolling his eyes as Sam’s face shifts into a pleading, hopeful expression and asks if there’s anything, _anything_ Michael can think of. For, like, the fifth time. It’s getting old. Both of them already regret answering his prayer for them to come.  
  
They’ve been here fifteen minutes.  
  
Michael’s emanating cool indifference on the outside, but Adam can feel the overwhelming irritation coursing through their bond. They’re not handcuffed this time (not that that actually made any difference last time) and Michael is _dangerously_ close to losing his temper, so Adam decides _well, okay, I’d prefer it if he didn’t blow the place up_ and gently pokes at Michael until he relinquishes control over their body, and then he finds himself suddenly staring at Dumb, Dumb and Dumber from a slightly different angle than before.  
  
“Guys, listen,” he says, throwing his arms up in a sort of _what-can-you-do_ gesture. “If Michael says he doesn’t have any ideas, then he _doesn’t have any ideas._ I don’t know how else we can say it. You all are basically the...main characters—or _whatever_ —of his whole story, right? So just go and do _main character_ things and something should come up sooner or later. Isn’t that how it normally works for you?”  
  
Castiel shrugs, giving Sam and Dean a look that's clearly saying _he’s not wrong_ , which is still odd for Adam to see because the last memory he had of the angel was _Mr. Stick-Up-The-Ass_ that helped keep him under guard in that old man’s house, the one who’d been in the wheelchair—what had his name been? Robby? Something like that.  
  
Oh yeah, and the whole _assbutt_ thing, which still made Adam crack up whenever he thought about it.  
  
_It wasn’t funny._ Michael grumbles, in the back of his mind, and Adam lets a part of himself retreat inwards into their shared mind-space thing, where he shoots a grin towards Michael’s disgruntled face. He’s got his arms crossed across his chest and he looks _so_ much like a pouty child that Adam snorts. _He set me on fire._  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I know _that_ part wasn’t funny,” Adam concedes, distantly remembering the feeling of holy oil flames burning them to a crisp even though Michael had kept him asleep at the time. “But the _assbutt_ part, man. _Assbutt_. Where did he even get that from?”  
  
_His stupid trench coat,_ the archangel grouses, very clearly put out by the thought of Adam finding _anything_ about that day remotely hilarious. _  
_ _  
_...In hindsight, the unintentional joke _really_ wasn’t that funny, but Adam bursts out in fits of laughter so hard that his physical form starts giggling, too. Sam, Dean and Castiel, who had started arguing amongst themselves while Adam wasn’t paying attention, all turn to give him looks that seem either disturbed, concerned, or slightly afraid; or, in Dean's case, all three.  
  
He feels Michael’s irritation gently subside into relaxed mirth and it only makes him laugh harder, with Michael’s pleased surprise mixing readily alongside his own hilarity. Adam heaves in a deep breath and lets it go in an attempt to make the giggles stop, but he catches a glimpse of Castiel’s perturbed face and starts laughing even _harder_ , and then he realizes that this isn’t doing much for him in terms of the trio in front of him thinking that he’s anywhere _close_ to mentally stable, so he wordlessly sends a request for Michael to _please take over holy shit I can’t breathe_ and he retreats to the backseat so he can have his laughing fit in relative peace.  
  
It’s always clear when Michael comes to the fore of their body—he carries with him an aura of power; the predatory gaze of a lion on the prowl and the commanding presence of a leader, so it was clear now, too, when he came forward, but only because Adam’s physical form immediately ceased its hysterics as Michael’s calm demeanor shadowed over their face.  
  
Apparently recognizing the change, Adam dimly notes Sam slowly stepping forward, hands raising slightly as if to placate a cornered animal.  
  
“Hey, uh, Michael? It’s Michael now, right?” As Michael’s head dips once into a nod, he hesitantly continues. “Is—is Adam...okay?”  
  
By this point, Adam thinks his soul is in the mental equivalent of stitches, whatever that may be.

So when Michael sends him a flash of a question, an emotional query that would roughly translate to _Kid, you alright?_ in words, Adam musters up the mental picture of a thumbs up and shoves it at Michael with jerky force. He can feel his own soul buzzing with elation, which is odd because he’s never felt something like that before.  
  
As if from far away, he can hear Michael relay his answer to the trio: “He’s fine. He simply...found something humorous.” And he can hear Dean’s response, too: “The _hell_ was so funny that he was laughing like _that_?!" But he really can’t bring himself to care, and he allows himself to fade back into the recesses of his own mind.  
  
This was probably a long time coming, actually. He hasn’t had a moment of _true_ happiness in over a thousand years, after all. Sure, he and Michael had actually had some pretty funny conversations in the Cage, but everything was always... _dampened_ , somewhat, because the knowledge that they were trapped always overtook everything else. But now? Now that they were free, without the confines of Enochian metals and sigils bearing down on them every second of every day?  
  
Well, it was probably high time that the serotonin in his brain kicked off.  
  
...Still, did it really have to be in response to a grumpy archangel’s joke about a trench coat?  
  
Speaking of Michael; on some sort of instinctive impulse, Adam finds himself reaching out with his soul and grasping for his grace, wanting to share his sudden burst of glee with him. He’s not sure what his emotions feel like to an archangel, but he thinks Michael will get what he means. He almost always does.  
  
His soul connects with Michael’s grace, and it’s suddenly like it was in the Cage again—only, instead of finding comfort in each other’s shared pain, instead of clinging onto the aching pieces of each other and simply existing together to deal with the endless darkness and silence of confinement, they’re _happy_ this time. This time, Adam’s soul is warm and bubbly and bright, and Michael’s grace responds back with equal amounts of warmth and vigor, reacting in tandem to Adam’s sheer joy.  
  
Adam can still feel the marks of betrayal, of rage, of loss and hopelessness and bitterness floating around through Michael’s being, and he allows his soul to wrap tenderly around those places, as if his happiness could help soothe the ache. Michael’s grace curls around his soul in response, and his presence gentle and kind and all the things that Adam _knows_ Michael doesn’t showcase to just anyone. It’s like a hug; their own version of it. It’s everything and nothing, all at once. It’s _them_ , and how they’ve been for hundreds of years, and Adam allows himself to fall entirely under the spell of contentment, of safety and affection and amusement and warmth; he allows himself to simply _be_ in a world where they aren’t trapped.  
  
Michael sends another range of emotions across their bond, ones that translate to _Hello, Adam_ and _We’ve left the bunker, you’ve been in here a while_ and _Are you sure you’re okay, kid?_ and _Sometimes, you’re still an enigma to me, you know that?_ and Adam laughs, softer and more controlled than his fit from earlier. He’s calmer, now, a side effect that he often gets from clinging onto Michael’s grace, which is contradictory, if he thinks about it too much, because Michael is all power and energy and _life_. If anything, Adam should be bouncing off the walls.  
  
Which...when he thinks about it, wasn’t his soul practically buzzing, earlier?  
  
Hm. Interesting. He’d have to ask Michael about it later, when he comes down from the peaceful high he’s found himself in. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was sleeping, but he does know better and he can pick out that he’s much, _much_ too alert to be.  
  
When he finally manages to send a coherent string of words across their link, it’s nothing big. Just a simple _Christ. How long’s it been since I lost it?_ He’s not quite sure which language he’s speaking in, English or Enochian, but he thinks that actually being able to form a sentence in either would be a win, right now. He’s assuming English, though, because Enochian doesn’t exactly have...contractions. _  
_ _  
_ _Twenty-two hours, fourteen minutes and eighteen seconds._ Michael’s voice is calm, quiet, with that amused tint it often carries when he speaks with Adam. _  
_ _  
_ _Seriously?_ Without disentangling himself entirely from Michael, he idles his way to the forepart of his mind, peering out of his own eyes where the world was to find himself in what looked like a motel room, laying on the top of a bed. The sky outside the window was darkening, a sure sign of either dusk or dawn, and Adam feels frivolous laughter bubble up in him once more for some inexplicable reason. _Damn. Wasn’t expecting that._ _  
_ _  
_ _Neither was I, as a matter of fact. Is this a normal thing that humans experience?_ _  
_ _  
_ _The laughing fit? Sometimes, for some people, I guess. The rest? That was all me._ _  
_ _  
_ Michael’s tone was both fond and wry. _Oh, joy._ _  
_ _  
_ Adam sends him the mental image of himself sticking his tongue out at him, and suddenly, it’s Michael who’s laughing.  
  
_You think I’m great and you_ know _it, halo._  
  
_Whatever you say, kid._

**Author's Note:**

> this is one of the softest things if not THE softest thing i've ever written i'm dead
> 
> comments are much appreciated!!!!
> 
> my tumblr is @adammilligan :)


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